


Cool It or Blow

by aderyn



Series: Natural Facts [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221b, Explosions, Gen, TGG
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-17
Updated: 2012-03-17
Packaged: 2017-11-02 01:50:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aderyn/pseuds/aderyn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Sherlock flings the tape round like a sash, the light of the magic hour burning on the embankment, on the blue of his cold, fresh fingertips.</p>
<p>He could stay, watch Sherlock flush from cover eight ideas.</p>
<p>He could stay, or he could go. "</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cool It or Blow

**Author's Note:**

> Soundtrack: The Clash

_“Burnished, burned-out, still burning as the year  
you lead me to our stamping ground...” --Robert Lowell_

 

“Sometimes, “Lestrade is saying, “Sometimes, you just don’t want to duck under that tape, you know?”

Sherlock flings the tape round like a sash, the light of the magic hour burning on the embankment, on the blue of his cold, fresh fingertips.

“Uh-huh,” says John.

There's beauty in it, isn't there--the river, the fire, the blood, the fall of the kingfisher and the cry of the gulls in the south wind, the fragile eyelash in Sherlock's palm--but it isn't the kind he longs for. How could he, after all he's seen? How much more he'll see, no way to know.

He could stay, watch Sherlock flush from cover eight ideas.

He could stay, or he could go. 

***

He’s seen what fire can do:  A flash, a carbonaceous mass he’d close his eyes against.

But there’s beauty in it, isn’t there, the exothermic rush of light and air; the deflagration, detonation, oxygen and fuel.  Wrenched from the energy of bonds, explosions are admissions of a kind. How much more he’ll say, no way to know.

Like this: Wake to an eyeful of smoking video; roll cross London on the shock waves; clutch your hands around your gut and rise, ( _imploded windows; gasp, and settle with relief_.)

You could choke, your cover blown, at Sherlock, offhand; his hands, the bow.


End file.
